


Winnie Foster : Official Ghost Friend

by IoccasionallyWriteStories



Category: Tuck Everlasting - Miller/Tysen/Shear & Federle, Tuck Everlasting - Natalie Babbitt
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Fluff, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, The tiniest weeest bit of angst i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 04:49:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21069122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IoccasionallyWriteStories/pseuds/IoccasionallyWriteStories
Summary: “Ah”, Winnie answered, raising a brow. “You’re clearly stupid. Just so you know, you’re not motivating me to put this”, she shook the rolling pin in her hands, “down. Tell me why you’re here.”“Ghosts”, he bluntly answered while putting his waistcoat back on. The thing still remained awfully ruffled. Eyes wide, Winnie dropped the rolling pin. “You’re a ghost?” she whispered in disbelief and excitement and the guy vehemently shook his head. “No! Absolutely not! Can ghosts fall down stairs? I don’t think so young lady. Check and mate”, he rambled as Winnie lost interest in him and went to open another door.





	Winnie Foster : Official Ghost Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Hey friends! This was created as part of an au collab project by @tuck-everlasting-shitposts on tumblr. Our prompt was ghost hunters au, so I created this little fic. The other half of this collab, the amazing @lottiedoesthings on tumblr created the art piece, be sure to check it out! (it's so pretty I cry everytime)

Maybe dramatically stomping off into the woods, with fists balled and teeth clenched wouldn’t solve her problems, but darn, if it wasn’t satisfying. To add to the general setting she was creating, she yelled into the unresponsive woods and let out a slew of curses that she knew would make her mother wash her mouth out with soap, should she ever hear them.

With the cold September air nipping at her nose, she knew that the logical thing to do, was turn around and start the stroll back home. But the anger still simmering in her veins and the sheer stubbornness she was born with wouldn’t allow her to. So, tucking her flimsy scarf a little tighter around her neck, she continued her aimless journey.

When she finally looked up, eyes meeting a landscape she’d never seen before, Winnie came to the conclusion that she had gotten lost. Not the first time for a born explorer just like herself and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Well then, time to put operation Find Your Way Back™ into action.

Without difficulty, she climbed into the nearest tree and when she deemed she was high enough, she scanned her surroundings, hoping to find a familiar point. That didn’t happen, but she did detect a house in the vicinity. Maybe it would lead her further away from the direction she was supposed to go in, but alas, curiosity killed the cat (and hopefully satisfaction would bring it back or she’d have a bit of a problem).

Anger about the argument she’d had with her mother completely vanished, she set off to find the house she’d spotted earlier. Because she was an experienced pathfinder, it didn’t take her all that long and the first thing she thought after finding the place was a disappointed little ‘oh’.

The façade had been overrun by vines, curling around and camouflaging the place, burying it into oblivion and age. Creaking awfully, the door had to be pushed quite hard before it caved and opened for her, revealing the interior of a house that looked as though time had stopped in the place. “Hello?” she called out, more out of politeness than the expectance (or hope) to be answered.

When no answer came, she took it as an open invitation to freely rummage through the rooms and set out to do exactly that. Although the house had a demanding atmosphere, it wasn’t oppressing or even remotely terrifying. It wasn’t bright and happy either. It was as though the stale air had been dipped into a river of sadness and the tears of this river had slipped into the corners and crevices of the house, leaving their marks for eternity.

A loud noise interrupted her train of thought and Winnie grabbed the nearest object she could find, which in this case was a lather large rolling pin. “Who’s there?” she demanded to know, raising the rolling pin behind her head. “I know you’re there and I won’t hesitate to…” Unsure whether it was a smart idea to tell the other person she was armed or not, she decided to skip over that part. “I won’t hesitate, just so you know it!”

“Got it!” A surprisingly young voice answered before the door swept open and met the other wall with a loud bang. A young man came into view, hair tousled and his old-fashioned waistcoat haphazardly arranged around his body. “Sorry for the noise, I fell of the stairs.”

“Ah”, Winnie answered, raising a brow. “You’re clearly stupid. Just so you know, you’re not motivating me to put this”, she shook the rolling pin in her hands, “down. Tell me why you’re here.”

“Ghosts”, he bluntly answered while putting his waistcoat back on. The thing still remained awfully ruffled. Eyes wide, Winnie dropped the rolling pin. “You’re a ghost?” she whispered in disbelief and excitement and the guy vehemently shook his head. “No! Absolutely not! Can ghosts fall down stairs? I don’t think so young lady. Check and mate”, he rambled as Winnie lost interest in him and went to open another door.

“But I am a professional ghost hunter”, he claimed proudly, puffing up his chest and theatrically waving his arms. Slowly, as to not reveal her interest, Winnie halted her stride and turned her head in his direction. “Prove it”, she demanded stubbornly, refusing to believe this strange boy’s words.

“Okay”, he easily replied before digging into his pockets. The first thing he dug out of them was a slinky, which immediately made Winnie feel wary of him. Once upon a time a slinky had gotten stuck in her hair (don’t ask how) and had torn half of her hair of (or so she claimed). Slinkies were the toys of the devil. The next object was a magic eight ball. Perfectly fine, nothing wrong with that. Then a bunch of marbles (highly respectable), two sets of keys, a toad, a get well soon card, three different socks, the tiniest succulent Winnie had ever seen and then a triumphant expression dawned on the guy’s face.

Waving a piece of paper in front of his face, he sighed and Winnie took this opportunity to snatch the paper out of his hand to give it a good look. In a barely legible handwriting it said ‘Jesse Tuck, legal ghost hunter’. That part wasn’t very compelling, but underneath the awful lettering was a fancy wax seal, royal red of colour. A deep blue piece of fabric was folded like a ribbon before the wax was poured over it, affirming the thoughts that had begun to form in Winnie’s mind. This guy was for real.

“This is an official document, I can tell. I believe you, Jesse Tuck.”

“You believe me?” Jesse asked, sounding scandalised before covering it up with a cough. “I told you so. Now what brings a little girl like you here? It might get dangerous you know.”

Patronised and a little upset over the fact that he called her a little girl, Winnie poked him in the chest. “Well mister, maybe I, Winnie Foster, am the most dangerous thing in here. Have you thought about that, huh?”

The flat look he gave her answered her question before his words did. “I most certainly didn’t missy. Maybe I will now”, he deadpanned before Winnie promptly kicked him in the shin. Yelping, he clutched his leg. “Okay, okay! Let’s stop the ghost hunter-abuse.” Thoughtfully he stroked his chin, before snapping his fingers. Stretching his hand toward Winnie he declared: “I’ve decided that you are the toughest person I know. Would you like to be the strong man in my ghost hunting quest?”

After pretending to carefully and deeply think it through for two whole seconds, Winnie clasped the outstretched hand. “Well then sir, I’d be honoured. Can you tell me more about the ghosts we’re supposed to be hunting though?”

Copying her melodramatic way of speaking, he took a deep bow before offering her his arm. “Why of course madam, if you would follow me. We’ll discuss these matters in a more fitting setting.” Leading her through another door, Jesse lead her to a room that Winnie was pretty certain was the kitchen. “Why the kitchen?” she questioned while sitting down in front of the stove. “Warmth is the first reason”, he explained while turning on the stove. After rummaging through the cupboards and ‘aha!’ing when he found what he was searching for, he joined her at the table. “The second and most important reason are these”, he announced and opened the jar, revealing cookies.

Gallantly he offered her a cookie and she put it in her mouth with all the grace and delicacy of a ravenous horse. “Charming”, he remarked dryly before sighing deeply and slumping down in his chair. “We’re looking for the ghosts of a family that was murdered in this house, ten or so years back.”

Frowning, she put the new cookie she had snatched from right under Jesse’s nose back into the container. “Tell me about them, about the people they were. I don’t want to upset them by talking about the way they died. I don’t think anyone wants to be reminded of their murder.”

An expression she couldn’t place slid over Jesse’s face before he threw back his head and laughed boisterously. Ruffling her hair and consequently messing up the ponytail and ribbon her mother had made for her, he said : “You’re absolutely right. Let’s talk about the people.”

“Let us start with the parents, Mae and Angus. Mae, the mother had red hair, just like you.” Jesse interrupted himself briefly to playfully tug on the ponytail Winnie had attempted to redo, unravelling the ribbon completely. “But unlike your red, the red of summer, vibrant red that screams stubborn youthfulness, she and her hair were autumn.” With surprisingly gentle and careful fingers, he neatly tied her hair back together. “She was autumn, a gentle lady in the midst of her life, who had settled comfortably in the woman she was and loved her family more dearly than anything.”

“Angus, the father, was grey.”

“Like you!” Winnie proclaimed and Jesse gave her an incredulous look. “Excuse you, I’m blond.” After giving Jesse’s hair an intricate examination, she shrugged. “Looks grey to me.” Running his hand through his hair, he attempted to persuade her to think otherwise. “Do you call your mother’s jewellery grey? No you don’t, you call it silver. I’m blond in the same line of thought.”

“Didn’t you just confirm that you’re silver aka grey?”

“No!” Pouting in frustration, Jesse decided to just continue his monologue about the murdered family. “Unlike me, Angus was grey”, Jesse said, daring Winnie to defy him. She ignored him in favour of another cookie. “The grey of age, of fishing together and of winter. Of cuddling by the fire while telling stories, of sharing supper as the snow falls right outside your window. He was a fox that never lost it tricks, but used them to amuse people instead of hurt them.  
Then there was Miles, his mother’s child at heart. A warm brown, the brown of the sturdy wood that your house is built of. A man who loved his family more than anything. A warm brown that become the brown of worn-out leather shoes after his wife left him and took their son with her.”

“That’s awful”, Winnie judged, lips pursed tightly. “Her son will be missing his dad very much.” She saw understanding dawn on Jesse’s face and quickly turned her own away. Sensing her discomfort, he decided to not react to it and continue his story. “Now the children were all growing up and the parents, who were so in love with each other, began to shove that love aside in an attempt to busy themselves with things so they wouldn’t have to deal with their children getting ready to leave. That was all I know about the family. Now Winnie Foster, tell me about why you’re out here in the woods again?”

“I had a fight with my mom”, she admitted, “It felt really big a few hours ago, but now I don’t know what it was about anymore.” Folding his arms over his chest, Jesse leaned back with a little laugh. “Isn’t that just how family is sometimes? You yell at each other so, so very much.” His gaze turned distant. “Fewer are the times that you tell each other just how much you love them.” When his eyes focussed on her once more, Winnie got the notion that he knows way more than he lets on. She doesn’t feel threatened though. Jesse Tuck means her no harm. “Go home, Winnie Foster”, he whispered softly. He wrapped a warm scarf around her neck and draped his long and heavy coat around her. “It’s cold out there, be safe.”

Right before she left, she saw three people appearing in the windows above the kitchen floor, where Jesse was waving her goodbye. Pointing up, she motioned for Jesse to go look there. “Leave that floor and go to the one above!” she yelled. “Good luck, official ghost hunter!”

Once home, Winnie was overwhelmed with questions. The main ones being: “Where were you? Did you know how worried we were?” and “Where did you get that godawful waistcoat?”

Before answering any of those, Winnie turned to her mother and hugged her tightly. “Mom, I love you.” Thrown off guard, her mother needed a second to catch up to the situation and hug her daughter right back. “Sweetheart I love you too, but where were you?”

“The house in the woods, the one with the vines?”

“The Tuck house?” her grandma asked incredulously. “Do you know what happened there? A guy murdered the whole family! The parents tried to keep their children safe, but died nonetheless. The older brother tried to hide his little brother, but it was to no avail. It must’ve been awful for little Jesse, hearing all of that happening. He almost got out of it too, but fell down the stairs and died trying to escape.”

Her grandmother’s words don’t truly settle into Winnie’s mind until the next day. Immediately, she ran to the house, bursting through the door. The heavy atmosphere had disappeared, making way for a serene air. On the table, she found the cookie jar and a piece of paper with the following on it: ‘Winnie Foster, official ghost friend.’ The handwriting was still awful, but that didn’t matter. There was a wax seal on it, with a blue ribbon underneath it. Winnie Foster was an official ghost friend.


End file.
